


Lie to Me

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Longing, Romance, Solitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Pansy Parkinson likes to be alone, but one wizard challenges her craving for solitude in ways she never imagined before. But sometimes... sometimes she gives in for a night. A 500 word drabble written for The Fairest of the Rare's 1000 Member Drabble and Aesthetic Prompts Challenge. Prompt: solitude.





	Lie to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by! This is unalphaed and unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoy! I've been toying with the idea of a Potts n Pans fic, so this was a fun foray into the ship. Fueled by sleep deprivation and wine, so be gentle lol.

Fingertips smoothed over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Despite the chill of the frosted window seeping into her skin, Pansy felt a thrill of anticipation, warm and potent, shoot through her gut.

“What’s a girl like you doing—” Warm, open-mouthed kisses rained over her shoulder, distracting her from the horribly saccharine words accompanying them. “—doing all alone in a place like this?”

Pansy opened her mouth to reply, but a sharp hiss escaped instead, encouraged by the teeth clamping onto her earlobe and biting, just the way she liked it.

The way he _knew_ she liked it.

When he spun her around, all coherent thought escaped Pansy. Mossy green eyes stared down at her, hungry and sharp in the moonlight. His glasses were knocked askew, and his breath gusted over her in harsh pants as he tried to reign in the passion that threatened to overwhelm them both.

“Potter, you’ve really got to stop meeting me like this.” It was a half-hearted protest, one they both knew well, uttered many times by the both of them. In broom closets at Hogwarts, dive bars all over the wizarding world. Wherever they could get the other alone, really.

A game. That’s all it was. _Their_ game. It was all too difficult, the Golden Boy and the Slytherin floozy. Never mind the words they spoke to each other in the throes of passion. Never mind that her heart raced any time the light caught the square of his stubbled chin just _so_ or the swoop of her stomach when he caged her in with the muscled forearms she didn’t dare allow herself to swoon over. 

Pansy Parkinson did not swoon.

Especially not for the likes of Harry bleeding Potter.

But when his fingers glided over her collarbone and tangled into the messy bob of her hair, her breath caught in her throat. She allowed a breathy moan when he pressed her against the windowpane, his warmth a delectable distraction from the sharp bite of winter outside. “Lie to me, Parkinson.”

Harry’s hips pressed against hers, the sharp bite of her hip bones marking her claim through his trousers, the hard length within a promise of what was to come.

As she slipped her hands down Potter's chest, Pansy lied. She told herself that this time would be the last time. She unbuckled his trousers with exaltations on her lips. When he laid her back on the downy comforter and pinned her hands above her, she quelled the part of her soul that cried for her to let the walls down, to let him in.

Tonight, she would sink into him, whisper promises she couldn’t keep in his ear. She’d cry his name in the ecstasy he always wrought. Then she’d lie in the silence of the darkened inn and watch the snow gather on the windowsill until the call of solitude that drove her was impossible to ignore.

And tomorrow... tomorrow she’d leave her heart with Potter again.


End file.
